


Blind Faith (give me up)

by BlackBlood1872



Series: Torn at the Seams (TMA ficlets) [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood, Episode Related, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, MAG 154: Bloody Mary, Martin POV, Referenced eye trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBlood1872/pseuds/BlackBlood1872
Summary: "I couldn't do it," Jon repeats, small and aching and half a step from broken. "I tried and Itriedbut it wouldn'tstick. They always came back."





	Blind Faith (give me up)

**Author's Note:**

> ‘What,’ you say, ‘another one? Aren’t there enough of these by now?’  
‘There can never be enough eye trauma,’ I say. 
> 
> (I'm pretty sure this is good rated as Teen but let me know if it should be higher)
> 
> I also haven’t heard 155 yet so this is probably au by now but _I don’t care_. I gotta spill that blood.

"_I couldn't do it_."

It's not often these days that Martin gets snuck up on (usually he's the one doing the sneaking) but the voice surprises him and he lets out a squeak as he spins around.

The first thing he sees is the blood. Thick rivets of it, oozing down ashen cheeks like tears, like oblation. It's old blood, dark and coagulated, hours old, with only a few streaks of redder, fresher blood. Martin thinks he can make out bits of tissue and flesh, little meaty strands only a shade lighter than the crimson ruin.

Jon looks at him with wide, frenzied eyes. Beautifully _intact_ eyes despite the gore weeping below them, pupils blown wide, irises unmarred by what must have been repeated, brutal attacks.

His words register, then, and Martin feels his blood run cold.

"Jon," he croaks. He can't move, frozen still by the display before him, but if he could he would shake his head, a pitiful denial against this horror. "Please, tell me you didn't—"

"I couldn't do it," Jon repeats, small and aching and half a step from broken. "I tried and I _tried_ but it wouldn't _stick_. They always came back."

Martin shudders, then, as his mind conjures images, what-if's and speculation, all the various ways Jon could have _tried_. He forces himself to keep his gaze up, to resist the urge to look down, to check Jon's hands, to see how much of the gore has spread during the act. If he hasn't taken the time to clean his face, why would he clean his hands? How much of this carnage is caked under his nails?

"I thought it would work," Jon continues, voice dropping to a mutter, talking to himself more than Martin, now, frantic observations that do nothing but twist him into an ever tighter spiral of hysteria. "I thought this was it, thought it was the way out, thought, it worked for him, it'll work for me, it had to, it _had to_. Didn't work before, though, should have remembered that, should have known. Can't hurt myself, can't cut it off but—" and Jon breaks off here, eyes widening and gaze lifting, settling blindly on Martin's unnerved features as realization spreads across his face. "I couldn't do it," he says slowly, tasting the words, the possibility, "but _he_ could. She did. The others... one of them could do it for me. _They_ could get through."

"Jon," Martin says again, panic crawling up his throat. He isn't with the Eye the way Jon is, can't Know the answers clearly, but he can guess. He can infer, look under and behind the words Jon's _saying_ to hear what he _means_. "You can't."

"I have to," Jon tells him, and when their eyes meet this time, he's present within them, he sees, and Martin knows that nothing he says will change what this man is desperate enough to do. "I have to."

It's the last thing Martin hears him say. It's the last time they see each other.

(Jon isn't seeing much of anything, these days.)


End file.
